BABOUSCKA 

A 

RUSSIAN 
CHRISTMAS  STORY 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


BABOUSCKA 

A  RUSSIAN 
CHRISTMAS  STORY 


AND 
<VVV  OTHER 

STORIES 


Illustrated 


Merner  Company 

NEW  YORK  AKRON,  OHIO  CHICAGO 

1899 


COPYRIGHT,  1899, 

BY 
THE  WERNER  COMPANY 


PZ 
8.1 

BJ/3 


59 


8SB* 


BABOUSCKA. 


OUT   OF    BREATH,  TIRED,  YET    HUR- 


IF  you  were  a  Russian 
child  you  would 
not  watch  to  see  Santa  . 
Klaus  come  down  the 
chimney ;  but  you  would 
stand  by  the  windows 
to  catch  a  peep  at  poor 
Babouscka  as  she  hur- 
ries by. 

Who  is  Babouscka  ?  Is 
she  Santa  Klaus'  wife? 

No,  indeed.  She  is 
only  a  poor  little  crook- 
ed wrinkled  old  woman, 
who  comes  at  Christmas 
time  into  everybody's 
house,  who  peeps  into 
every  cradle,  turns  back 
every  coverlid,  drops  a 
tear  on  the  baby's  white 


BABOUSCKA. 

pillow,     and    goes     away      very,     very     sorrowful. 

And  not  only  at  Christmas  time,  but  through 
all  the  cold  winter,  and  especially  in  March, 
when  the  wind  blows  loud,  and  whistles  and 
howls  and  dies  away  like  a  sigh,  the  Russian 
children  hear  the  rustling  step  of  the  Babouscka. 
She  is  always  in  a  hurry.  One  hears  her  running 
fast  along  the  crowded  streets  and  over  the  quiet  coun- 
try fields.  She  seems  to  be  out  of  breath  and  tired, 
yet  she  hurries  on. 

Whom  is  she  trying  to  overtake  ? 

She  scarcely  looks  at  the  little  children  as  they 
press  their  rosy  faces  against  the  window  pane  and 
whisper  to  each  other,  "  Is  the  Babouscka  looking 
for  us?" 

No,  she  will  not  stop  ;  only  on  Christmas  eve  will 
she  come  up-stairs  into  the  nursery  and  give  each 
little  one  a  present.  You  must  not  think  she  leaves 
handsome  gifts  such  as  Santa  Klaus  brings  for  you. 
She  does  not  bring  bicycles  to  the  boys  or  French 
dolls  to  the  girls.  She  does  not  come  in  a  gay  little 
sleigh  drawn  by  reindeer,  but  hobbling  along  on  foot, 
and  she  leans  on  a  crutch.  She  has  her  old  apron 


BABOUSCKA. 

filled  with  candy  and  cheap  toys,  and  the  children  all 
love  her  dearly.  They  watch  to  see  her  come,  and 
when  one  hears  a  rustling,  he  cries,  "  Lo !  the  Ba- 
bouscka ! "  then  all  others  look,  but  one  must  turn 
one's  head  very  quickly  or  she  vanishes.  I  never 
saw  her  myself. 

Best  of  all,  she  loves  little  babies,  and  often,  when 
the  tired  mothers  sleep,  she  bends  over  their  cradles, 
puts  her  brown,  wrinkled  face  close  down  to  the  pil- 
low and  looks  very  sharply. 

What  is  she  looking  for  ? 

Ah,  that  you  can't  guess  unless  you  know  her  sad 
story. 

Long,  long  ago,  a  great  many  yesterdays  ago,  the 
Babouscka,  who  was  even  then  an  old  woman,  was 
busy  sweeping  her  little  hut.  She  lived  in  the  cold- 
est corner  of  cold  Russia,  and  she  lived  alone  in  a 
lonely  place  where  four  wide  roads  met.  These 
roads  were  at  this  time  white  with  snow,  for  it  was 
winter  time.  In  the  summer,  when  the  fields  were 
full  of  flowers  and  the  air  full  of  sunshine  and  sing- 
ing birds,  Babouscka's  home  did  not  seem  so  very 
quiet;  but  in  the  winter,  with  only  the  snow-flakes 


BABOUSCKA. 

and  the  shy  snow-birds  and  the  loud  wind  for  com- 
pany, the  little  old  woman  felt  very  cheerless.  But 
she  was  a  busy  old  woman,  and  as  it  was  already 
twilight,  and  her  home  but  half  swept,  she  felt  in  a 
great  hurry  to  finish  her  work  before  bed-time.  You 
must  know  the  Babouscka  was  poor  and  could  not 
afford  to  do  her  work  by  candle-light. 

Presently,  down  the  widest  and  the  lonesomest  of 
the  white  roads,  there  appeared  a  long  train  of  people 
coming.  They  were  walking  slowly,  and  seemed  to 
be  asking  each  other  questions  as  to  which  way  they 
should  take.  As  the  procession  came  nearer,  and 
finally  stopped  outside  the  little  hut,  Babouscka  was 
frightened  at  the  splendor.  There  were  Three 
Kings,  with  crowns  on  their  heads,  and  the  jewels  on 
the  Kings'  breastplates  sparkled  like  sunlight.  Their 
heavy  fur  cloaks  were  white  with  the  falling  snow- 
flakes,  and  the  queer  humpy  camels  on  which  they 
rode  looked  white  as  milk  in  the  snow-storm.  The 
harness  on  the  camels  was  decorated  with  gold,  and 
plates  of  silver  adorned  the  saddles.  The  saddle- 
cloths were  of  the  richest  Eastern  stuffs,  and  all  the  ser- 
vants had  the  dark  eyes  and  hair  of  an  Eastern  people. 


BABOUSCKA. 

The  slaves  carried  heavy  loads  on  their  backs,  and 
each  of  the  Three  Kings  carried  a  present.  One 
carried  a  beautiful  transparent  jar,  and  in  the  fading 
light  Babouscka  could  see  in  it  a  golden  liquid  which 
she  knew  from  its  color  must  be  myrrh.  Another 
had  in  his  hand  a  richly  woven  bag,  and  it  seemed  to 
be  heavy,  as  indeed  it  was,  for  it  was  full  of  gold. 
The  third  had  a  stone  vase  in  his  hand,  and  from  the 
rich  perfume  which  filled  the  snowy  air,  one  could 
guess  the  vase  to  have  been  filled  with  incense. 

Babouscka  was  terribly  frightened,  so  she  hid  her- 
self in  her  hut,  and  let  the  servants  knock  a  long 
time  at  her  door  before  she  dared  open  it  and  an- 
swer their  questions  as  to  the  road  they  should  take 
to  a  far-away  town.  You  know  she  had  never  stud- 
ied a  geography  lesson  in  her  life,  was  old  and  stu 
pid  and  scared.  She  knew  the  way  across  the  fields 
to  the  nearest  village,  but  she  knew  nothing  else  of 
all  the  wide  world  full  of  cities.  The  servants 
scolded,  but  the  Three  Kings  spoke  kindly  to  her, 
and  asked  her  to  accompany  them  on  their  journey 
that  she  might  show  them  the  way  as  far  as  she  knew 
it.  They  told  her,  in  words  so  simple  that  she  could 


BABOUSCKA. 

not  fail  to  understand,  that  they  had  seen  a  Star  in 
the  sky  and  were  following  it  to  a  little  town  where  a 
young  Child  lay.  The  snow  was  in  the  sky  now, 
and  the  Star  was  lost  out  of  sight. 

"Who  is  the  Child?"  asked  the  old  woman. 

"  He  is  a  King,  and  we  go  to  worship  him,"  they 
answered.  "  These  presents  of  gold,  frankincense  and 
myrrh  are  for  Him.  When  we  find  Him  we  will  take 
the  crowns  off  our  heads  and  lay  them  at  His  feet. 
Come  with  us,  Babouscka !  " 

What  do  you  suppose  ?  Shouldn't  you  have 
thought  the  poor  little  woman  would  have  been  glad 
to  leave  her  desolate  home  on  the  plains  to  accom- 
pany these  Kings  on  their  journey  ? 

But  the  foolish  woman  shook  her  head.  No,  the 
night  was  dark  and  cheerless,  and  her  little  home 
was  warm  and  cosy.  She  looked  up  into  the  sky, 
and  the  Star  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Besides,  she 
wanted  to  put  her  hut  in  order — perhaps  she  would 
be  ready  to  go  to-morrow.  But  the  Three  Kings 
could  not  wait;  so  when  to-morrow's  sun  rose  they 
were  far  ahead  on  their  journey.  It  seemed  like  a 
dream  to  poor  Babouscka,  for  even  the  tracks  of  the 


BABOUSCKA, 

camels'  feet  were  covered  by  the  deep  white  snow. 
Everything  was  the  same  as  usual ;  and  to  make  sure 
that  the  night's  visitors  had  not  been  a  fancy,  she 
found  her  old  broom  hanging  on  a  peg  behind  the 
door,  where  she  had  put  it  when  the  servants 
knocked. 

Now  that  the  sun  was  shining,  and  she  remem- 
bered the  glitter  of  the  gold  and  the  smell  of  the 
sweet  gums  and  myrrh,  she  wished  she  had  gone 
with  the  travellers. 

And  she  thought  a  great  deal  about  the  little 
Baby  the  Three  Kings  had  gone  to  worship.  She 
had  no  children  of  her  own  —  nobody  loved  her  — 
ah,  if  she  had  only  gone !  The  more  she  brooded 
on  the  thought,  the  more  miserable  she  grew,  till  the 
very  sight  of  her  home  became  hateful  to  her. 

It  is  a  dreadful  feeling  to  realize  that  one  has  lost 
a  chance  of  happiness.  There  is  a  feeling  called 
remorse  that  can  gnaw  like  a  sharp  little  tooth. 
Babouscka  felt  this  little  tooth  cut  into  her  heart 
every  time  she  remembered  the  visit  of  the  Three 
Kings. 

After   a   while   the   thought   of    the  Little  Child 


BABOUSCKA. 

became  her  first  thought  at  waking  and  her  last  at 
night.  One  day  she  shut  the  door  of  her  house  for- 
ever, and  set  out  on  a  long  journey.  She  had  no 
hope  of  overtaking  the  Three  Kings,  but  she  longed 
to  find  the  Child,  that  she  too  might  love  and 
worship  Him.  She  asked  every  one  she  met,  and 
some  people  thought  her  crazy,  but  others  gave  her 
kind  answers.  Have  you  perhaps  guessed  that  the 
young  Child  whom  the  Three  Kings  sought  was  our 
Lord  himself? 

People  told  Babouscka  how  He  was  born  in  a 
manger,  and  many  other  things  which  you  children 
have  learned  long  ago.  These  answers  puzzled  the 
old  dame  mightily.  She  had  but  one  idea  in  her 
^norant  head.  The  Three  Kings  had  gone  to  seek 
d  Baby.  She  would,  if  not  too  late,  seek  Him  too. 

She  forgot,  I  am  sure,  how  many  long  years  had 
gone  by.  She  looked  in  vain  for  the  Christ-child  in 
His  manger-cradle.  She  spent  all  her  little  savings 
in  toys  and  candy  so  as  to  make  friends  with  little 
children,  that  they  might  not  run  away  when  she  came 
hobbling  into  their  nurseries. 

Now  you   know  for   whom  she   is  sadly  seeking 


BABOUSCKA. 

when  she  pushes  back  the  bed-curtains  and  bends 
down  over  each  baby's  pillow.  Sometimes,  when  the 
old  grandmother  sits  nodding  by  the  fire,  and  the 
bigger  children  sleep  in  their  beds,  old  Babouscka 
comes  hobbling  into  the  room,  and  whispers  softly, 
"  Is  the  young  Child  here  ? " 

Ah,  no ;  she  has  come  too  late,  too  late.  But  the 
little  children  know  her  and  love  her.  Two  thousand 
years  ago  she  lost  the  chance  of  finding  Him. 
Crooked,  wrinkled,  old,  sick  and  sorry,  she  yet  lives 
on,  looking  into  each  baby's  face  —  always  disap- 
pointed, always  seeking.  Will  she  find  Him  at 
last? 


A  FOREIGN  EMBASSY. 

NESTLED  in  a  secluded  nook  between  two  ranges 
of  billowy  hills,  with  one  dormer  window  com- 
manding a  bend  of  the  Hudson,  but  with  its  ample 
porch  facing  the  gorge  which  led  like  a  steep  staircase 
to  the  wilderness,  stood  for  many  years  the  hunting 
lodge  of  Peter  Van  Vechten. 

It  had  a  wild,  solitary  look,  and  yet  there  were  signs 
of  comfort  and  even  of  luxury  about  the  place.  Its 
lonely  situation  might  have  been  the  choice  of  either 
a  very  happy  or  of  a  grief-stricken  man.  At  all  events 
it  was  the  hermitage  of  a  man  who  loved  to  live  apart 
from  the  world.  The  broad  carriage-drive  which 
swept  up  to  the  hospitable  porch  was  grass-grown  and 
had  lost  all  signs  of  ruts  of  wheels.  Only  hoof-prints 


A    FOREIGN    EMBASSY. 

here  and  there  told  that  Peter  Van  Vechten  was  as 
fond  of  the  hunt  as  ever,  and  that  his  daughter  Lilian 
often  rode  to  the  hounds  with  him. 

He  had  been  a  kind  and  true  father  to  his  little 
girl,  almost  too  indulgent  for  her  own  best  good, 
parting  with  her  company  much  of  the  time  that  she 
might  acquire  an  elegant  education  in  the  city,  and 
living  a  lonely  life  with  only  his  three  hounds  as 
companions.  At  length  Lilian's  education  was  pro- 
nounced finished,  and  she  returned  to  the  Lodge. 
The  little  window  that  kept  watch  over  the  Hudson 
was  her  own,  and  she  would  look  at  the  passengers 
flitting  by  in  the  swift-winged  schooners  on  their  way 
to  Albany  or  New  York,  for  this  was  before  the  time 
of  steamboats  or  rail-car.  It  was  very  dull  at  the 
Lodge,  in  spite  of  rides  upon  her  pony,  and  the  harp- 
sichord which  her  father  loved  to  listen  to  in  the 
evening.  He  had  a  rich  full  voice  and  sometimes 
joined  her  in 

"  My  heart's  in  the  highlands." 

He  escorted  her  in  her  calls  at  the  stately  old 
manor-houses,  and  once  in  a  great  while  a  venerable 


A   FOREIGN    EMBASSY 

coach  rattled  up  to  their  own  door  and  a  Madam 
Livingston  or  Van  Cortland,  or  a  Miss  Verplanck 
would  make  a  dignified  visit  at  the  Lodge. 

There  were  the  woods  for  botanizing  and  her 
embroidery  frame  for  rainy  days,  but  in  spite  of  all 
this,  Lilian  was  discontented.  She  could  not  have 
cared  greatly  for  her  father,  and  yet  she  was  jealous 
of  his  pets,  the  three  great  dogs  with  their  odd  names : 
Prince,  Peace  and  Prosper;  so-called,  their  master 
explained,  because  if  you  held  fast  to  Principle,  Peace 
and  Prosperity  would  follow.  Prince  was  in  fact  the 
leader  of  the  little  pack,  and  if  you  held  him  well  in 
leash,  the  others  never  wandered.  Peace  was  a  quiet 
inoffensive  dog,  a  poor  hunter,  with  a  loving  disposi- 
tion and  a  melting  eye.  Old  Prosper  was  always 
lucky,  and  would  come  leaping  back  with  the  game 
lightly,  but  securely  held  in  his  deep  jaws,  while 
Prince  looked  on  with  the  air  of  a  commanding 
general. 

Lilian  wondered  that  her  father  could  be  so  happy 
in  the  society  of  these  dumb  friends.  His  easy-going 
temper  grated  against  her  ambitious  spirit.  She 
chafed  at  the  Lodge,  not  so  much  because  she  was 


A   FOREIGN    EMBASSY. 

lonely  and  longed  for  pleasant  companionship,  for 
friends  to  love,  for  opportunities  to  do  good,  as  that 
her  proud,  imperious  nature  longed  for  continual 
admiration.  She  did  not  care  whether  anyone  really 
loved  her,  provided  she  could  be  envied,  praised  and 
flattered. 

When  winter  began  she  moped  and  sulked,  and 
fancied  herself  the  most  unhappy  girl  in  the  world, 
until  early  in  December  an  invitation  came  from  an 
aunt  in  Philadelphia,  urging  her  to  spend  two  months 
in  that  city.  Philadelphia  was  then  the  seat  of  gov- 
ernment, and  a  gay  and  fashionable  centre.  Lilian 
was  delighted.  She  did  not  ask  herself  whether  her 
father  might  not  be  lonely  in  her  absence,  nor  did  she 
for  a  moment  suspect  that  he  had  written  her  aunt 
requesting  this  invitation  —  she  was  simply  overjoyed 
to  leave  the  Lodge  and  to  think  that  new  dresses  and 
invitations  to  routs  and  parties  awaited  her. 

But  even  in  Philadelphia  Lilian  was  not  quite 
happy.  The  society  in  which  she  was  thrown  was 
political,  and  young  ladies  were  honored  quite  as 
much  from  their  fathers'  positions  as  for  their  own 
grace  or  beauty.  It  was  mortifying  to  Lilian  to  see 


A    FOREIGN    EMBASSY. 

Miss  Van  Rensselaer  of  Albany  leading  the  contra 
dance,  just  because,  as  she  told  her  jealous  heart, 
Miss  Van  Rensselaer's  papa  was  a  great  man.  How 
provoking,  too,  to  count  Edith  Verplanck's  bouquets 
and  the  admirers  hovering  round  Gertrude  Van 
Cortland's  chair  !  She  was  sure  Cora  Livingston's 
entrance  would  not  have  caused  such  a  sensation  if 
her  father  had  not  recently  been  appointed  Minister 
lo  France.  No  one  had  heard  of  Peter  Van  Vechten, 
and  she  asked  herself  with  tears  in  her  eyes  why  her 
Jiather  had  not  done  something  to  render  himself 
famous  and  confer  distinction  upon  his  family. 

Her  two  months  stretched  into  four,  but  she  re- 
turned to  the  Lodge  more  discontented  than  ever. 
Her  father  greeted  her  gladly.  He  had  employed 
himself  in  her  absence  in  making  alterations  in  the 
house  which  he  thought  would  please  her  fancy ;  ana 
he  proposed  to  invite  Gertrude  Van  Cortland  to  pass 
the  summer  with  her.  Lilian  declined  the  offer  un- 
graciously, and  met  all  her  father's  efforts  for  her 
pleasure  with  an  ungrateful  manner  which  refused  to 
be  pleased  with  anything.  Her  father  was  very  con- 
siderate and  gentle  in  these  days  ;  he  did  not  reprove 


"GONE  AWAY." 


A  FOREIGN    EMBASSY. 

or  reproach  her,  but  seemed  to  be  silently  trying  to 
find  the  way  to  his  daughter's  heart.  There  was  a 
tender  yearning  in  the  furtive  way  in  w  .iich  he  watched 
her,  a  glad  flushing  of  the  cheek  whenever  she  chanced 
to  bestow  on  him  a  careless  caress.  He  was  not 
well  and  had  given  up  hunting ;  but  he  went  into 
society  more  than  formerly,  and  Lilian  could  not  help 
noticing  when  she  entered  a  drawing-room  leaning 
upon  his  arm,  that  there  was  a  little  lull  in  conversa- 
tion and  people  looked  at  him  admiringly.  He  was  a 
handsome  man  with  his  abundant  gray  hair  and  fine 
soldierly  figure  —  she  contrasted  him  thankfully  with 
stout  little  Mr.  Van  Rensselaer,  and  felt  that  she 
would  be  proud  of  him  even  in  a  Philadelphia  assem- 
blage of  diplomats  and  dignitaries.  If  only  she 
could  hear  his  name  called  with  some  high-sounding 
title  attached  !  Perhaps  it  was  not  too  late  even  now. 
"  Father,"  she  asked  one  day  as  they  rode  through  the 
wood  together,  "why  don't  you  go  into  poli- 
tics ? " 

He  leaned  forward  and  gently  caressed  the  head  of 
one  of  the  hounds  with  the  handle  of  his  riding-whip. 
"If  I  went  into  politics,  Lilian,"  he  replied,  "I would 


A    FOREIGN    EMBASSY. 

have  to  leave  the  Lodge  and  perhaps  bid  farewell  to 
Principle,  Peace  and  Prosperity." 

Lilian  thought  of  the  words  only  as  the  names  of 
the  dogs.  "  I  don't  see  why  you  are  so  attached  to 
them,"  she  replied,  "  I  was  so  ashamed  all  last  winter 
to  have  people  say  when  I  was  introduced,  'Van 
Vechten,  it  seems  to  me  I  knew  your  father  —  let  me 

see  —  wasn't  he  a  member  of  Congress  for '  or 

'  are  you  the  daughter  of  Colonel  or  of  Judge  Van 
Vechten.'  Then  some  of  the  Philadelphia  families 
are  descended  from  earls  and  dukes,  and  have  coats 
of  arms  emblazoned  on  the  panels  of  their  coaches. 
I  never  could  find  that  any  of  our  family  were  noble :  — 
and  one  or  two  of  the  girls  have  been  to  England  and 
have  been  presented  at  court.  Edith  Verplanck 
showed  me  an  amber  satin  dress  she  wore  at  a  royal 
reception,  to  which  she  was  invited  just  because  her 
father  had  been  sent  on  a  diplomatic  mission.  / 
don't  seem  to  have  anything  to  be  proud  of  ! " 

Lilian's  father  glanced  aside.  "  I  am  sorry  you 
have  had  occasion  to  be  ashamed  of  your  father,"  he 
said  quietly. 

The  girl's  better  nature   asserted   itself  for  the 


A   FOREIGN    EMBASSY. 

moment.  "  I  never  could  be  ashamed  of  you,  dear, 
kind  father,"  she  cried  impulsively.  "  It  is  just  be- 
cause you  are  so  much  more  worthy  than  other  men 
that  I  fret  that  you  are  not  recognized.  I  should 
think  our  country  would  feel  honored  to  be  able  to 
point  to  you  as  its  minister  in  some  European  city.  I 
am  every  bit  as  proud  of  you  as  Cora  Livingston  is 
of  her  father  —  she  always  looked  so  aggravatingly 
happy  when  people  praised  him  to  her." 

"  But  Lilian,  if  I  were  to  be  sent  upon  a  foreign 
inission,  perhaps  I  could  not  take  you  with  me.  How 
'vould  you  like  being  left  behind  ?  " 

"I  should  not  mind  it  in  the  least,"  Lilian  exclaimed 
thoughtlessly.  "  I  should  hear  people  praising  you, 
and  so  would  Cora  and  Gertrude  and  the  other 
girls ;  and  I  could  hold  up  my  head  with  any  of  them." 

"  And  you  would  not  mind  if  I  were  to  spend  the 
rest  of  my  days  in  Turkey  or  India  ?  " 

"  You  would  not  have  to  spend  your  whole  life 
there,  would  you  ?  "  Lilian  asked  ;  "  if  you  did,  couldn't 
you  find  some  way  for  me  to  join  you  ? " 

"  And  leave  Philadelphia  ?  are  you  sure  that  you 
would  care  to  ?  " 


A    FOREIGN    EMBASSY. 

"  Why  of  course,  dear  father." 

"  Even  if  it  were  a  half  civilized  post,  something 
like  the  Lodge  ?  " 

"  Yes  indeed ;  and  to  prove  it  I'll  not  leave  you 
this  winter.  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  a  selfish  daugh- 
ter, and  I  will  give  up  Philadelphia  if  you  wish 
it." 

A  smile  of  infinite  content  crossed  Peter  Van 
Vechten's  face,  but  he  shook  his  head.  "  No,  no, 
the  sacrifice  would  be  too  great  —  you  enjoy  Phila- 
delphia even  though  you  are  not  a  grandee's  daughter, 
and  you  shall  go  again  this  winter." 

Lilian  had  forgotten  this  conversation,  when  just 
before  leaving  for  her  second  winter  with  her  aunt,  as 
the  stage  was  climbing  the  hill  and  the  servant  carry- 
ing out  her  little  cow-skin  covered  trunk  and  well 
corded  cedarn  boxes,  her  father  took  her  hand  and 
spoke  hurriedly  as  though  moved  by  sudden  impulse  : 
"  And  Lilian  one  last  word :  if  I  should  obtain  a 
foreign  mission  and  go  away —  I  know  you  love  me 
child,  but  don't  grieve  —  I'll  manage  some  way  to 
send  for  you,  so  be  glad  of  my  promotion." 

Lilian   was   delighted;   was   it  possible   that  her 


A   FOREIGN    EMBASSY. 

father  was  keeping  back  a  secret  as  a  glad  surprise 
for  her  some  day  !  She  kissed  him  rapturously,  sprang 
into  the  coach,  and  waving  a  pretty  silk-mittened 
hand  to  the  lonely  man  standing  there  with  the  dogs 
capering  about  him  and  striving  in  vain  to  console 
him,  she  rolled  gaily  away  toward  Philadelphia. 

Very  touching  and  tender  were  the  letters  which 
came  to  Lilian  in  the  early  winter,  they  were  brief 
however,  and  infrequent,  and  sometimes,  in  a  pause 
in  the  gay  whirl  of  excitement  in  which  she  found 
herself,  Lilian  would  wonder  why  her  father  wrote  so 
seldom.  Perhaps  he  was  busy  with  negotiations  in 
regard  to  the  foreign  ministry  or  embassy.  He  re- 
ferred to  it  sometimes  in  a  sentence  like  this : 

"  Don't  be  ashamed  of  your  old  father  ;  a  prospect 
of  high  honor  opens  before  him; "  or  "  When  I  am 
gone  don't  forsake  Principle,  and  may  Peace  and 
Prosperity  never  desert  you." 

Occasionally  he  spoke  of  a  "  long  journey ; "  but 
though  Lilian  wrote  enthusiastically,  or  curiously, 
and  begged  him  to  confide  his  projects  to  her,  he 
kept  his  secret  well. 

One  dismal  day  in  February  Lilian  was  quite  alone. 


A   FOREIGN   EMBASSY. 

Her  aunt  was  slightly  ill  and  kept  her  room.  A  fine 
sleety  rain  drove  against  the  windows,  and  the  room 
was  damp  and  chill.  She  seated  herself  at  the  harp- 
sichord and  played  the  old  melodies  which  her  father 
loved  to  hear.  She  was  singing : 

"  My  heart's  in  the  highlands, 
My  heart  is  not  here," 

when  a  servant  handed  her  a  letter.  It  was  from 
her  father,  but  in  such  a  cramped  and  trembling 
hand  that  she  hardly  recognized  it. 

"  DEAREST  LILIAN,  (it  ran) 

The  message  has  come  at  last.  I  have  received  my  commis- 
sion, and  must  leave  soon  for  a  far  country.  I  have  dreaded  the 
passage,  but  now  I  am  contented.  I  long  only  to  see  you  before 
I  go.  I  fear  that  you  may  be  unhappy  without  me;  but  be  com- 
forted —  we  shall  not  be  long  separated.  '  I  go  to  prepare  a 
place  for  you  that  where  I  am  there  you  may  be  also?  Come 
quickly  to  bid  me  good-bye,  for  I  may  be  summoned  at  any 
moment.  It  is  a  great  honor,  and  I  am  very  happy.  Take 
care  of  Principle  for  me,  and  may  Peace  and  Prosper  be  yours, 
always.  Your  loving 

FATHER." 

When  Lilian's  aunt  read  the  letter  she  looked  pale 


A    FOREIGN    EMBASSY. 

and  frightened.     "  You  must  go  at  once,  poor  child," 
she  said. 

"  Of  course,"  Lilian  replied,  and  hurriedly  prepared 
for  her  journey.  How  odd,  she  thought,  that  her 
father  had  not  mentioned  the  name  of  the  foreign 
country  to  which  he  was  sent.  No  matter,  it  was 
enough  to  know  that  the  embassy  was  an  honorable 
and  an  important  one.  She  had  always  been  proud 
of  her  father ;  she  was  not  surprised  that  he  should 
be  chosen  for  such  a  mission ;  and  now  her  delighted 
imagination  pictured  the  homage  which  she  would 
receive  as  the  daughter  of  a  foreign  minister.  Her 
father  need  not  have  feared  that  she  would  miss 
him  —  she  had  grown  accustomed  to  their  separation 
and  it  did  not  pain  her.  He  had  said  that  she  should 
come  too.  She  hoped  the  station  would  prove  gay 
and  interesting,  one  of  the  principal  capitals  of  Europe, 
and  she  almost  regretted  her  rash  expression  of  wil- 
lingness to  follow  her  father  to  some  remote  exile. 

The  stage  left  her  at  the  wayside  tavern  a  half  a 
mile  from  the  Lodge.  She  was  surprised  not  to  find 
her  father  here  to  meet  her,  and  questioned  the  inn- 
keeper, who  seemed  embarrassed  at  meeting  her. 


A    FOREIGN    EMBASSY. 

"Your  father  has  gone  away,  Miss,"  he  stammered. 

"  Is  it  possible  ? "  Lilian  cried  ;  "  am  I  too  late  ? 
He  must  have  been  sent  for  suddenly." 

"  Yes  Miss,  he  was  took  very  sudden,  at  the  last," 
replied  the  man. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  climb  the  hill,  vexed 
that  she  had  had  her  journey  for  nothing,  and  won- 
dering what  messages  her  father  might  have  left  for 
her  with  the  housekeeper. 

As  she  opened  the  gate,  Peace  laid  his  great  muzzle 
affectionately  against  her  hand,  and  Prince  leaped 
joyfully;  but  old  Prosper  only  looked  toward  the 
house  and  howled.  So  preoccupied  was  she  with  her 
own  thoughts  that  it  was  not  until  she  stood  upon  the 
very  threshold  that  she  noticed  a  long  scarf  of  crape 
which  fluttered  from  the  knocker. 

Then  all  the  awful  force  of  the  words,  "  Gone 
away,"  struck  the  girl.  Her  grief  was  intensified  by 
her  remorse  for  her  selfish  behavior,  and  for  a  time 
she  wept  for  her  father  as  one  who  could  not  be  com- 
forted. He  had  been  very  ill,  so  the  housekeeper 
told  her,  all  winter ;  but  he  would  not  allow  any  one 
to  alarm  Lilian.  He  wrote  to  her  from  time  to  time 
8 


A   FOREIGN   EMBASSY. 

when  quite  unable  to  do  so.     He  spoke  of  her  lov- 
ingly but  refused  to  have  her  sent  for. 

He  had  said  once,  after  reading  one  of  her  eager 
questioning  letters  asking  where  he  was  going,  "  Tell 
her  this  is  the  guide-book.  She  will  find  the  city  all 
described  here." 

Lilian  took  up  the  worn  Bible  and  found  a  mark  at 
the  passage : 

"Eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  neither  hath  it  en- 
tered into  the  heart  of  man,  the  things  which  God  hath 
prepared  for  them  that  love  Him" 

Then  she  remembered  that  her  father  had  said 
that  she  should  join  him  some  day,  and  she  knew 
how  little  she  deserved  such  an  honor  as  this.  She 
lacked  the  graces  suited  to  the  daughter  of  an  am- 
bassador to  the  Heavenly  City.  She  remembered 
that  Cora  Livingston  had  said,  "I  have  to  be  very 
careful  of  my  conduct  —  my  father's  position  de- 
mands it;"  and  that  Edith  Verplanck  had  told  her 
that  she  w-dS  more  frightened  than  glad  when  she 
knew  that  she  was  to  be  presented  at  court,  for  she 
feared  that  she  might  make  some  mistake  in  etiquette 
in  the  presence  of  the  king. 


A   FOREIGN    EMBASSY. 

"  The  King  of  that  world  "  —  thought  LHian ;  and 
she  sat  herself  earnestly  to  a  study  of  the  code  of 
sweet  and  gentle  courtesy  which  made  Christ  "the 
most  perfect  gentleman  of  all  time  ; "  and  to  the  ac- 
quirement of  accomplishments  which  she  might  carry 
with  her  sometime  when  she  joined  the  celestial  em- 
bassy. Little  by  little  the  spirit  of  Christ  grew  within 
her,  she  became  more  meek  and  loving  and  trusting, 
and  serving  her  king,  she  became  widely  known 
among  the  poor  and  suffering  as  the  "kindly  lady." 

An  embroidered  satin  picture,  of  the  kind  that 
were  fashionable  when  our  grandmothers  were 
young,  hangs  still  over  the  little  mantle  of  the  cham- 
ber overlooking  the  Hudson,  and  on  a  species  of 
memorial  tablet  which  adorns  its  centre,  is  delicately 
worked  in  faded  silk  this  stanza : 

"  My  boast  is  not  that  I  deduced  my  birth 

From  kings  enthroned,  and  rulers  of  the  earth ; 

But  higher  far  my  proud  pretentions  rise, 
The  child  of  parents  passed  into  the  skies." 

I  talked  in  this  room  with  a  bent  old  woman,  who, 
in  her  girlhood  days  had  been  the  dressing  maid  of 
aged  Mistress  Van  Vechten.  "Her  senses  failed 


A    FOREIGN    EMBASSY. 

her  at  the  last,"  said  the  old  tiring-woman,  "for 
she  took  a  strange  notion  that  she  was  the  daughter 
of  a  foreign  embassador.  She  grew  restless  like  — 
and  used  to  say  that  she  wanted  to  go  to  'the  em- 
bassy.' She  had  always  been  so  simple-minded  and 
unostentatious  that  it  seemed  all  the  queerer  to  see 
her  taking  such  a  high  fancy.  The  very  dumb  ani- 
mals loved  her.  I've  heard  her  repeat  the  names  of  a 
pack  of  hounds  that  used  to  belong  to  her  father. 
'Peace  and  Prosper,' she'd  say;  'keep  Principle  and 
you'll  always  have  Peace  and  Prosper.'  She  was  a 
dear,  kind  lady.  The  night  before  she  left  us,  she 
came  out  of  her  room.  '  Get  my  best  brocade, 
Calisty,'  says  she,  '  I  am  going  to  the  embassy.  My 
white  brocade  with  the  gold-thread  figure  —  I  must 
look  my  best — in  the  presence  of  the  king.'  Then 
she  let  me  put  her  to  bed  as  peaceable  as  a  child ; 
but  about  midnight  she  sat  up.  '  It's  my  turn,  Cal- 
isty,' she  cried,  her  voice  all  trembling  with  happi- 
ness, 'it's  my  turn, — didn't  you  hear  the  usher  call 
Ambassador  Van  Vechten's  daughter?'  " 

"  I  lighted  a  candle  as  quick  as  I  could ;  the  dear 
soul  was  gone." 


A  QUEER  LETTER  CARRIER. 

MOST  children  have  seen  a  United  States  post- 
man, with  his  plain  uniform  and  letter-bag. 
The  letter  carrier's  quick  step,  too,  you  have  noticed, 
as  if  he  were  walking  for  a  prize. 

Now  I  will  tell  you  of  a  postman  who  wore  no 
uniform,  never  uttered  a  word  to  any  one  he  met,  and 
always  distributed  his  mail  without  being  late.  He 
could  not  read  a  word,  and  yet  gave  the  mail  to 
the  right  person.  He  had  no  salary,  got  up  and  went 
to  bed  when  he  pleased,  and  though  he  had  not  a  dol- 
lar in  the  world,  he  was  contented.  The  queerest  thing 
about  him  is  that  I  can't  tell  you  his  name,  nor  did  he 
wear  a  number,  as  some  carriers  do.  Moreover,  he  car- 
ried letters  in  the  country  and  not  in  the  city ;  and  this, 
too,  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago.  Through  the 
woods  he  walked  on  his  round,  and  if  it  came  to  be 


A  QUEER   LETTER  CARRIER. 

dark,  there  were  no  lights  to  guide  him.  When  he  got 
to  the  place  where  he  delivered  the  letters,  he  did  not 
pull  the  bell  with  a  quick  jerk,  as  the  postman  does,  nor 
knock,  to  summon  some  one  to  come  and  get  the 
mail.  If  any  one  thanked  him  for  the  mail  he  brought, 
he  never  said,  "  You're  welcome."  Altogether,  as  you 
must  admit,  he  was  a  funny  letter-man. 

But  the  funniest  thing  is  that  he  was  not  a  letter- 
man  at  all.  He  was  a  letter-dog.  More  than  one 
hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  by  the  aid  of  the  Gen- 
eral Court  of  Massachusetts,  there  was  built  by  the 
settlers  of  Brunswick  and  Topsham  (on  the  Andros- 
coggin  River,  in  the  district  of  Maine)  a  fort  named 
Fort  George,  as  a  defence  against  the  Indians.  A 
picture  of  these  ancient  works  shows  tha-t  it  was  made 
of  stone,  with  little  windows,  like  port-holes,  near  the 
top  of  the  walls.  Within  was  a  house,  and  the  roof 
peers  over  the  ramparts.  A  flag  floats  from  the  staff, 
and  a  heavy  door  is  in  the  front  —  a  point  carefully 
guarded.  Barracks  for  fifteen  men  were  provided  —  a 
small  force,  but  enough  to  keep  the  Indians  at  a  dis- 
tance. 

About  ten  miles  away,  on  the  Kennebec  River,  was 


A   QUEER   LETTER   CARRIER. 

a  little  settlement  called  "  The  Reach,"  where  now 
the  city  of  Bath,  a  famous  ship-building  place,  is 
pleasantly  built  along  the  river  bank.  The  very  few 
families  living  at  "  The  Reach  "  kept  up  communica- 
tion with  the  fort,  for  it  was  their  place  of  refuge 
in  war,  and  supplies  were  to  be  bought  there  in 
quiet  times. 

The  mail  route  of  the  carrier  I  am  telling  you  about 
was  from  this  fort  to  "  The  Reach,"  through  places 
where  Indians  were  hidden,  waiting  for  some  white  man 
to  come  within  reach  of  their  arrows.  The  faithful  dog 
would  carry  packages  of  letters  from  Brunswick  to  the 
settlement,  and  bring  back  answers.  When  he  got  to 
the  house  at  "The  Reach,"  where  the  mail  was  to 
stop,  he  would  howl  in  an  anxious  way ;  then  the  let- 
ters would  be  taken  from  him  ;  but  still  he  would  wait 
and  not  stir  until  another  bundle  was  given  him  —  the 
parcel  of  mail  matter  for  those  in  the  fort.  Then  he 
would  put  the  letters,  not  in  a  letter-bag,  but  in  a 
place  more  safe  —  his  mouth! 

Off  he  would  start  again  through  the  lonely  forest. 
Foxes  and  rabbits  and  birds  might  start  up  near  him, 
but  he  remembered  his  errand,  and  turned  neither  to 


A  QUEER   LETTER   CARRIER. 

the  right  nor  to  the  left.  In  two  hours  he  would  cover 
the  distance,  and  howl  at  the  fort  gate  for  the  mail  to 
be  taken  in.  In  case  of  great  danger,  when  word 
would  be  written,  the  dog  would  always  rush  away  as 
if  he  knew  what  was  the  matter! 

I  wish  I  could  tell  you  that,  after  working  hard  and 
faithfully,  the  wise  dog  died  quietly  at  home ;  but, 
alas  !  after  awhile  the  Indians  discovered  that  the  dog 
oft  seen  was  conveying  information  from  the  fort  to 
the  houses  down  the  river,  and  they  soon  found  a 
chance  to  kill  him.  At  last,  one  day  when  he  was 
trotting  through  the  thicket,  holding  fast  to  his  parcel, 
a  slight  sound  was  heard,  which  his  instinct  told  him 
was  the  light  tread  of  a  fox ;  but  the  next  instant  an 
Indian  burst  through  the  underbrush,  and  death 
overtook  him  then  and  there!  A  brave  man  dies, 
and  praise  is  given  him  long  after :  the  trusty  dog 
falls  when  he  is  doing  his  duty,  and  not  even  his 
name  is  recorded ! 


THE  QUAKER  WEDDING. 

DURING  the  wars  with  England,  the  inhabitants 
of  Nantucket,  notwithstanding  their  hardships 
and  privations,  persisted  in  marriages  and  weddings. 
Father  Peleg,  though  he  had  seen  two  ships  full-laden 
with  sperm  oil,  belonging  to  "himself  and  sons," 
taken  by  the  enemy  just  off  Great  Point,  never 
thought  of  postponing  William's  marriage.  The  time 
for  its  solemnization  was  appointed  for  the  "twelfth 
day  of  the  twelfth  month  "  by  the  monthly  meeting. 
That  which  was  dictated  to  this  "  body  of  Friends  " 
by  the  "moving  of  the  spirit,"  silenced  all  argument. 
Accordingly  the  nuptials  of  Peleg's  son  and  Andrew's 
daughter  were  duly  to  be  recognized. 

THE   MEETING    HOUSES 

used  by  Friends  were  devoid  of  paint,  as  a  matter  of 


THE   QUAKER    WEDDING. 

discipline.  The  interior  was  divided  by  a  line  of  pil- 
lars, separating  the  half  occupied  by  the  men  from 
what  was  denominated  the  "women's  part."  These 
posts  were  longitudinally  grooved.  At  times  of  busi- 
ness, there  descended  straight  from  the  heavens,  the 
children  believed,  between  every  two  pillars  a  sliding 
door,  giving  each  sex  a  chance  for  private  dis- 
cussions. 

At  their  public  gatherings,  these  doors  were  again 
raised,  every  boy  and  girl  quietly  wondering  how ! 
There  were  no  Signer  Blitzes  in  those  parts ;  tables 
had  always  quietly  rested  on  four  legs,  unless  a  caster 
was  off,  which  was  soon  remedied. 

At  right  angles  with  the  posts,  and  gradually  elo- 
vated  from  a  square  in  the  centre  of  each  apartment 
and  terminated  by  the  wall,  were  two  opposing  sets  of 
"rising-seats.''  If  the  simile  is  admissible  (if  not,  let 
it  pass)  the  arrangement  is  as  that  of  a  circus,  ignor- 
ing the  literal  meaning  of  the  word,  and  considering 
it  an  "oblong square."  The  last  sentence,  although 
written,  understood  and  countenanced  by  a  birth-right 
member,  is,  it  must  be  confessed,  objectionable  as  a 
matter  of  taste.  The  figure  holds  its  own. 


THE   QUAKER   WEDDING. 

The  "rising-seats"  fronting  the  congregation  were 
occupied  by  ministers,  elders  and  overseers.  On  the 
ground  benches  sat  "members  of  meeting"  generally. 
On  the  back  "rising-seats,"  facing  the  ministers,  etc., 
sat  the  gay  people  —  men  who  wore  double-breasted 
coats ;  girls  with  bows  on  their  bonnets ;  women  who 
insisted  upon  carrying  a  closed  parasol  by  the  rightful 
handle,  instead  of  the  apex ;  and  those  who  had  yet 
other  worldly  ways. 

On  an  occasion  of  a  "marriage-in-meeting,"  one  of 
the  overseers'  "  rising-seats  "  in  the  women's  division 
was  left  vacant  for  the  "  bridal  couple,"  two  old  men 
who  were  to  superintend  the  groom,  and  two  old 
women  who  had  the  care  of  the  bride. 

According  to  appointment,  one  cold  week-day 
morning,  William  and  Lydia  walked,  arm  in  arm, 
through  a  crowded  assembly,  to  the  second  rising-seat 
in  the  Friends'  South  Meeting-house.  As  soon  as 
seated,  the  two  old  men  alluded  to  took  their  places 
by  William,  and  the  two  old  women  by  Lydia. 

The  twelve  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  floor.  "  At 
what  are  they  gazing  ?  "  thought  the  young  folks. 

Little  Jedidah  Hussey  solved  the  question  to  her 


THE   QUAKER    WEDDING. 

own  satisfaction :  "they  were  all  watching  a  winter  fly 
which  they  feared  might  come  to  life  and  disturb  one 
of  the  folds  in  Lydia's  shawl,  and  it  would  be  such  a 
shame ! " 

Jedidah  must  be  excused,  for  she  belonged  to  a 
Presbyterian  family.  She  had  never  been  to  a  QuBker 
meeting  before,  or  she  would  have  known  that  the 
eight  eyes  were  intent  on  the  "inner  light,"  while  the 
other  four  were  cast  down  by  the  weight  of  the  im- 
pending silence,  their  owners  respectively  trying  to 
recite  their  role. 

THE    SIGNAL. 

It  is  incumbent  upon  the  Friend  who  sits  next  to 
the  young  man,  when  in  his  judgment  the  minute 
has  arrived  for  the  ceremony  to  begin,  to  signify  the 
same  to  the  groom.  This  is  brought  about  by  a 
slight  touch  of  the  arm.  William,  being  on  the  look- 
out for  this,  as  the  time  draws  near  clears  his  throat 
repeatedly;  looks  up  inquiringly  and  defiantly,  al- 
most with  a  nod,  at  the  junction  of  the  ceiling  with 
the  wall  at  the  farthest  end  of  the  room,  as  if  calcu- 


THE    QUAKER    WEDDING. 

lating  some  patent  improvement.  Suddenly  he  is  in- 
terested in  the  nails  of  the  floor.  He  counts  them : 
first  down;  then  up;  then  across;  half  diagonally; 
and  whole  ditto.  Finally,  to  verify  his  mathematics 
and  to  prove  his  entire  calmness,  he  ascertains  the 
number  of  rows  and  the  units  in  each  row,  and  is 
about  to  get  the  product,  when  the  dreaded  sign  is 
given. 

He  has  half  a  mind  to  rub  his  crazy-bone,  as 
though  the  nudge  has  fallen  on  a  tender  spot,  thereby 
showing  the  audience  his  stoicism.  Instead  of  which 
the  color  leaves  his  lips  as  he  attempts  to  get  up. 
He  reaches  for  the  right  hand  of  the  bride,  to  aid  the 
weaker  vessel  to  find  her  feet. 

Lydia,  on  the  other  side,  persists  in  extending  the 
left;  knows  confidently  that  the  "left  was  the  right" 
when  they  practised  the  night  before,  and  the  week 
before,  and  the  month  before.  The  stronger  sex 
gains,  at  last;  with  right  hands  joined  they  rise  and 
face  the  —  (Query :  What  ?) 

They  pause  a  moment ;  Jedidah  thinks,  "  in  order 
to  give  the  girls  a  chance  to  see  what  the  bride  was 
dressed  in." 


THE   QUAKER    WEDDING. 

As  to  that,  the  groom's  attire  would  bear  scrutiny. 
Thus :  wash-leather  short-clothes,  silver  knee-buckles, 
rose-colored  silk  stockings  reaching  to  the  knees, 
black  swallow-tail  coat,  white  vest  (material  —  lost  to 
tradition)  and,  to  crown  the  whole,  a  "broad  brim" 
which  was  studiously  kept  on  the  head  during  the 
whole  meeting. 

Bride's  :  Pearl-colored  silk  skirt  and  wrapper — the 
former  open  in  front  disclosing  an  apron  of  the  same 
fabric,  just  one  shade  deeper;  on  her  head  the  prim- 
mest of  prim  " pleater  "  (no  !  plaiter  is  not  the  right ! 
what  do  modern  spelling-matches  know  of  bonnets 
worn  by  original  Friends  ! )  —  and  over  her  shoulders 
was  thrown  (thrown !  indeed  !  rather  put  on  with 
line  and  plummet  and  level  and  a  little  mariner's 
compass ! )  a  book-muslin  kerchief. 

THE   CEREMONY. 

In  this  garb  they  address  the  meeting.  He  speaks 
first  —  that  is,  he  shall  speak  when  he  gets  ready  ; 
always  did  have  his  own  way,  and  guesses  he  shan't 
alter  just  now;  has  some  idea  of  saying,  in  a  jocose 


THE    QUAKER    WEDDING. 

way  to  the  congregation,  that  he  shall  "bide  his 
time;"  wishes  he  hadn't  sat  in  that  draft  and  got  cold 
in  his  limbs,  which  makes  his  knees  shake,  though 
nothing  new.  At  length,  throat  effectually  cleared, 
he  declares  in  a  voice  of  thunder  that  he  takes  Lydia 
to  be  his  wife.  His  tones  come  out  on  the  last  two 
or  three  words  with  a  bound  so  loud  that  it  is  evident, 
he  thinks,  to  the  audience,  how  self-possessed  he  is. 

The  bride  then  repeats  the  same,  telling  them  in  a 
"confidential  whisper"  that  she  takes  William  to  be 
her  husband. 

The  latter  is  quite  relieved  when  Lydia  gets  to  the 
period;  his  only  fear  had  been  for  days,  that  she 
would  break  down.  He  winks  at  her  to  that  effect 
as  they  resume  their  seats.  She  looks  no  response, 
though  she  did  know  that  the  voice  in  which  her 
husband  went  through  his  part  was  one  totally  new 
and  strange  to  her.  (This  secret  she  kept  inviolate 
till  the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  their  wedding-day.) 

As  the  couple  sat  down,  the  strangers  rose  to  de- 
part, when  the  rustling  of  paper  brought  them  into 
quiet  again.  A  certificate  of  great  dimensions  was 
handed  to  the  couple  for  them  to  sign  in  their  new 


THE   QUAKER   WEDDING. 

relation,  setting  forth  what  had  taken  place.  When 
William  took  the  parchment  he  examined  it  thoroughly, 
determined  to  know  to  what  he  was  about  to  put  his 
name.  No  one  of  the  congregation  suspected  that  he 
had  hired  Seth  Gardner  to  copy  this  document  (Seth 
wrote  German  text  like  a  native),  and  that  he  and 
Lydia  had  viewed  it  again  and  again ;  had  even  tried 
holding  a  pen  over  the  "places  elect"  of  their  names, 
that  nothing  should  be  imperfectly  done  on  the  day  of 
the  marriage.  But,  alas !  they  had  never  spoken  in 
meeting  before,  and  the  rehearsing  went  for  very 
little.  They  signed  ;  he  his  old  name,  she  her  new. 

There  were  those  who  said  "  if  Lydia  had  removed 
her  right  kid,  which  extended  to  the  elbow,  the  play 
of  the  fore-arm  and  the  freedom  of  the  thimble-finger 
would  have  given  an  ease  to  her  handwriting  which 
was  entirely  omitted."  But  there  always  are  fault- 
finders ! 

After  the  above  signatures  were  obtained,  the  cer- 
tificate was  read  to  the  meeting  at  large  by  the  clerk 
of  the  men's  part,  who  took  his  stand  on  the  women's 
side  of  the  posts.  The  autograph  of  the  crowd  was 
then  allowed. 


THE    QUAKER    WEDDING. 

A  silence  ensued,  less  anxious  than  that  which  pre- 
ceded the  ceremony;  a  "refreshing  season"!  One 
aged  man  felt  moved  to  give  the  newly  married 
couple  his  sympathy. 

A  few  more  moments  of  intense  hush,  when  the 
head  of  each  department,  simultaneously  inspired  to 
shake  hands  each  with  the  other,  performed  this  feat 
across  the  dividing  pilaster,  as  a  signal  that  "  meeting 
was  out." 

THE    FEAST. 

No  more  interesting  sight  can  be  found  than  that 
of  a  long  table  spread  in  a  Quaker's  side-room,  sur- 
rounded by  youth  and  maidens  in  the  simple  dress  of 
the  sect.  That  day  two  tables  were  arranged  for 
the  guests.  The  bride  and  groom,  both  under  twenty- 
one  years  of  age,  yet  being  married,  must  sit  with  the 
elder  and  more  staid  persons.  At  their  table,  the 
drab  coat  prevailed,  the  muslin  cap  neatly  pinned  be- 
neath the  chin,  and  the  silk  mit.  The  old  men's 
neckerchiefs  seemed  to  preserve  an  unparalleled  par- 
allelism. The  end  of  Jacob's  tie  protruded  a  half- 
inch  from  the  knot.  The  end  of  Benjamin's  tie  pro- 


THE    QUAKER    WEDDING. 

truded  a  half-inch  from  the  knot.  The  same  of 
Laban's,  the  same  of  every  other.  Each  man  spread 
a  large  red  bandanna  over  his  knees  ;  every  woman  a 
substantial  Irish-linen  pocket  handkerchief  in  her  lap. 
A  beautiful  picture  !  The  table  itself  was  appointed 
with  the  real  "  dark  blue  "  direct  from  Canton,  heavy 
silver,  and  cut-glass  from  the  old  country  ;  no  plated 
ware  !  no  burglars  ! 

The  other  table  was  surrounded  by  the  young  of 
both  sexes  —  the  boys  with  hair  uniformly  cut  in 
"  bowl-fashion ; "  nothing  more  nor  less  than  the 
"  bang "  of  to-day,  if  spoken  aside.  The  faces  of 
the  girls  peeped  out  of  the  sheerest  round-eared  caps 
that  you  ever  saw ;  the  white  of  the  muslin  only  add- 
ing to  the  innocence  of  the  visage,  and  bringing  out, 
in  a  stronger  light,  the  lurking  fun  of  sweet  sixteen. 

Before  "  Friends  "  commenced  eating,  a  long  and 
painful  silence  was  the  law.  Quaker  girls  and  boys 
have  the  giggle  in  them,  and  after  being  pent  up,  it  is 
very  apt  to  break  out  into  "an  amusement."  The 
author  of  the  last  sentence  knows  her  subject ;  no 
contradiction  is  in  order.  So  that  the  youth's  table,  as 
soon  as  the  quiet  abated,  was,  "within  bounds,"  lively. 


THE   QUAKER   WEDDING. 

Dinner  over,  a  few  additional  guests  arrived.  At 
candle-light,  the  tables  were  again  laid.  Best  of 
Hyson  tea,  delicious  biscuits,  plum-cake  and  "  hearts 
and  rounds  "  (a  Nantucket  institution)  were  served. 
Tea  over,  yet  a  few  more  persons  appeared  for  the 
evening ;  these  were  generally  the  "  must-be-noticed  " 
class.  Having  been  put  through  this  ordeal  many 
times,  as  giver  and  receiver,  each  one  understood  the 
honor,  but  no  one  remained  at  home  through  ill- 
nature.  Before  the  clock  finished  striking  eight, 
there  was  handed  round  a  large  waiter  holding  at 
least  forty-eight  wine-glasses,  each  glass  just  two- 
thirds  full  of  "  home-made  currant-juice."  The  young 
men  and  women  of  the  family  were  taught  to  say, "  Not 
any  for  me,  I'm  'bliged  to  thee."  That  fashion  of 
passing  wine,  Authority  is  happy  to  remark,  has  long 
since  had  the  go-by ;  and,  if  anything  as  the  evening 
beverage  is  desired  at  a  Friends'  wedding  better  than 
cold  water,  a  little  raspberry  syrup  supplies  the  defi- 
ciency. 

At  nine  o'clock  precisely,  the  guests,  all  three  vari- 
eties, departed.  The  wedding  was  over. 


LADY  GODIVA. 

HAVE  you  ever  heard  of  Coventry,  an  old  town 
not  very  far  from  London,  where  some  of  the 
streets  are  so  narrow  that  no  wagons  can  pass  through 
them,  and  where  the  second  stories  of  the  quaint  old 
mansions  jut  over  so  far  into  the  streets  that  they 
almost  touch  each  other  ? 

It  was  a  lovely  morning  in  September.     We  had 
come   from  busy  London,  that  immense  city  where 
one  million  people  every  year  ride  in  the  many  rail- 
roads that  are  made  under  the  houses,  saying  nothing 
of  the  millions  who  throng  the  streets  above  ground. 
All  the  people  know  Americans  at  sight,  and  they 
looked  at  us  as  carefully  as  we  at  them.     First  we 
went  to  a  tall  church  that  Sir  Christopher  Wren,  the 
10 


LADY    GODIVA. 

great  architect,  said  was  a  masterpiece.  Its  tower  and 
spire  alone  are  three  hundred  and  three  feet  high  :  that 
is  about  three  times  as  high  as  the  State  House  in 
Boston.  The  church  was  built  nearly  four  hundred 
years  before  Columbus  discovered  America,  and  was 
given  by  a  great  earl  to  the  monks  —  it  is  Protestant 
now — for  "the  repose  of  his  soul."  I  suppose  that 
means  that  he  might  get  safely  to  Heaven. 

But  the  thing  which  most  interested  us  about  Cov- 
entry was  that  here  once  lived  a  sweet  and  beautiful 
lady  about  whom  the  people  never  tire  of  telling  you. 

She  was  the  wife  of  an  earl  who  governed  Coven- 
try. He  was  immensely  rich,  but  he  taxed  his  sub- 
jects so  that  petitions  came  in  every  day  to  have 
them  lowered.  Finally,  as  all  their  beseeching  did 
no  good,  the  poor  people  came  to  his  wife,  Lady 
Godiva,  to  beg  her  to  intercede  for  them.  Her  heart 
was  touched,  and  she  went  to  her  husband,  but  he 
was  angry,  and  bade  her  never  to  speak  of  it 
again. 

Several  months  went  by.  He  had  been  away  to 
some  wars  in  the  northern  part  of  England,  and  com- 
ing home,  was  so  delighted  to  meet  his  wife  and 


LADY   GODIVA. 

darling  little  boy,  that  he  clasped  them  both  to  his 
heart,  asking  her  if  she  needed  anything  to  complete 
her  happiness.  She  had  money,  an  elegant  home, 
and  lived  like  a  queen,  but  she  could  not  be  happy. 
She  said,  "While  our  people  groan  under  oppression, 
the  most  luxurious  entertainment  can  afford  me  no 
real  enjoyment." 

Leofric,  her  husband,  again  became  violently 
angry,  but  said,  since  he  had  promised  to  do  what 
she  wished,  he  would  keep  his  word  ;  but  she  must 
ride  on  horseback,  at  noonday,  from  one  end  of  the 
pity  to  the  other,  with  no  clothing  upon  her.  He 
supposed  of  course  that  she  would  never  consent  to 
this.  For  a  moment,  her  noble  womanly  heart  sank 
within  her,  and  then  she  said,  "  I  will  go." 

Seeing  that  her  mind  was  made  up,  he  ordered  all 
the  people  to  darken  the  fronts  of  their  houses,  and 
retire  to  the  back  parts  of  them,  while  the  devoted 
lady  took  her  lonely  ride.  When  the  appointed  day 
came,  the  whole  city  was  as  still  as  death.  Lady 
Godiva's  beautiful  white  horse  was  brought  to  the 
palace.  With  a  face  as  blanched  as  her  charger, 
drawing  her  long  dark  hair  like  a  scarf  about  her 


LADY    GODIVA. 

body,  she  mounted,  and  rode  in  solemn  silence 
through  all  the  principal  streets.  No  sound  was 
heard  save  that  of  the  horse's  hoofs,  as  the  grateful 
people  waited  for  their  burdens  to  be  lifted. 

And  when  the  ride  was  over,  and  the  people 
opened  their  doors  and  unbarred  their  windows,  a 
great  cry  of  rejoicing  went  up  from  thousands,  for 
Coventry  was  free.  Lady  Godiva,  after  founding 
several  churches,  died  about  the  year  1059. 

Every  three  or  four  years  in  Coventry  a  quaint  pro- 
cession still  takes  place  in  honor  of  this  noble  act  of 
devotion  to  her  people.  The  City  Guard  and  High 
Constable  lead  the  column.  Then  follows  a  beautiful 
woman  clothed  in  a  white  linen  dress,  fitted  close  to 
her  body,  with  long  hair  floating  about  her,  and  a 
large  bunch  of  flowers  in  her  hand,  riding  on  a  cream- 
colored  horse.  On  either  side  of  her  are  two  city 
officials,  dressed  in  green  and  scarlet.  Two  men 
come  next  bearing  the  sword  and  mace,  emblems  of 
the  high  authority  of  the  mayor,  followed  by  the 
mayor  himself  in  his  scarlet  robes,  trimmed  with  fur, 
wearing  a  cocked  hat,  and  carrying  a  white  wand  in 
his  hand.  Then  come  the  Sheriffs  in  their  black 


LADY   GODIVA. 

gowns ;  all  the  different  trades  of  the  city ;  the  Odd 
Fellovs,  Foresters,  and  other  benevolent  societies. 

The  principal  characters  of  the  show  are  attended 
by  beautiful  children  in  costly  habits,  riding  on 
horseback.  These  children  are  so  small  that  they 
are  obliged  to  sit  in  basket-work  seats,  which  are 
fastened  to  the  horses'  backs.  The  men  who  lead  the 
horses,  walk  without  their  coats,  and  are  decorated 
with  a  orofusion  of  ribbons. 


MOOLEY. 

SOMEWHAT  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago, 
good  Farmer  Whitney,  who  lived  in  the  little  town 
of  Spencer,  in  Massachusetts,  found  a  new  calf  in  his 
barn  one  April  morning.  The  farmer  looked  at  it,  de- 
clared it  a  "likely  heifer,"  and  went  in  to  tell  the  good 
news  to  h'is  family.  They  all  went  to  the  barn  at 
once — little  Cyrus  and  Ben  and  John,  and  Dame 
Whitney  with  baby  Lem  in  her  arms. 

Little  Mooley  stood  by  her  mother  quite  bewil- 
dered at  the  number  of  her  lively  visitors.  They  ad- 
mired her  clear  bright  eyes,  her  brown  dewy  nose, 
shining  coat  and  waxen  hoofs ;  they  patted  her  head, 
felt  for  her  horns,  and  were  delighted  with  the  little 
white  star  in  her  forehead.  She  was  pronounced  "  a 
very  good  calf."  People  in  those  days  did  not  call 
everything  which  pleased  them  splendid,  or  sitperb,  or 


magnificent,  as  modern  talkers  do ;  these  subjects  of 
King  George  simply  said  Mooley  was  "a  good  calf" 
< — and  so  she  was. 

In  a  few  days  Mooley  was  taught  to  drink ;  Dame 
Whitney  herself  gave  her  her  first  lessons,  after  which 
she  was  left  to  the  care  of  Cyrus,  who  was  a  "  master 
hand  with  cattle,"  his  father  said.  Cyrus  brought  in 
armfuls  of  the  sweetest  hay,  and  steeped  it  in  water,  to 
which  he  added  a  little  meal  and  milk ;  for  the  poor 
calf  had  to  share  her  mother's  milk  with  the  four  little 
Whitneys.  They  with  the  neighbors'  children  played 
and  romped  with  her  sometimes,  pulled  her  the  ten- 
derest  grass,  led  her  to  water,  taught  her  odd  tricks  ; 
and  one  day  when  Cyrus  and  his  father  were  out  in 
the  pasture  they  all  heard  the  loud  booming  of  the 
guns  of  Bunker  Hill. 

When  Mooley  was  a  well-grown  heifer  Mr.  Whitney 
sold  his  farm  and  went  to  Talland,  Connecticut. 
All  their  goods  were  packed  upon  an  ox-cart,  where 
the  mother  and  baby,  and  sometimes  one  of  the 
younger  children,  rode.  The  others,  with  the  father 
and  the  live  stock,  Mooley  among  the  rest,  took  up 
their  line  of  march,  on  foot,  toward  their  new  home. 


MOOLEY. 

Once  there,  Mooley  was  left  more  than  ever  in 
Cyrus'  care  ;  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  W.  were  engaged  in 
making  saltpetre,  by  leaching  the  earth  dug  from  un- 
der old  buildings,  for  the  supply  of  gunpowder  for  the 
Federal  army. 

At  last,  one  morning  when  Cyrus  came  down  the 
ladder  from  the  loft  where  he  slept,  he  found  his 
father  preparing  to  go  to  war,  while  his  mother  stood 
before  the  fire  which  blazed  in  the  wide  chimney, 
turning  her  "  nut-cakes "  in  the  hissing  fat,  and 
proudly  brushing  away  her  tears. 

Breakfast  over,  the  good  wife  gave  her  "minute- 
man  "  a  last  drink  of  Mooley's  milk,  filled  his  knap- 
sack with  her  cakes,  and  turned  to  her  saltpetre 
works  with  more  zeal  than  ever ;  for  she  was  a  reso- 
lute, fiery-hearted  woman  who  loved  her  family  and 
hated  the  king  with  equal  fervor. 

Even  those  who  can  remember  the  last  war  can 
have  little  idea  of  what  our  ancestors  suffered  during 
those  sad  seven  years.  Cyrus  and  his  mother  weeded 
the  garden,  fed  the  poultry,  milked  the  cows  —  did 
their  best.  One  day  a  hoop  came  off  from  the  milk- 
pail  —  a  milk-pail  in  those  days  was  a  clumsy  affair 


MOOLEY. 

with  wooden  hoops,  looking  more  like  a  mackerel  kit 
than  a  modern  milk-pail.  Mr.  Whitney  could  easily 
have  put  on  another  hoop  if  he  had  been  at  home ; 
but  there  was  no  one  to  do  it  now,  as  the  cooper  also 
had  gone  to  war.  So  Mrs.  W.  sadly  set  the  pail 
away  and  took  the  cream-pot,  a  wide-mouthed  brown 
earthen  jar,  to  the  barn  to  milk  in.  She  strained  her 
milk  into  thick,  heavy  pans,  earthen  like  the  cream- 
pot,  and  skimmed  it  with  a  clam-shell.  One  night,  I 
am  sorry  to  say,  Mooley  kicked  the  cream-pot  over, 
and  while  it  went  rolling  across  the  barnyard  she 
scampered  away. 

Poor  Mrs.  Whitney  sat  still  on  her  milking-stool 
and  cried  !  The  children  gathered  round  her  :  "  It 
is  not  broken,"  they  said  consolingly.  "Only  a  little 
milk  is  spilled  !  "  "  'Taint  broke  ! "  "  'Taint  broke, 
marm  ! " 

"But  it  might  have  been,"  sobbed  the  poor,  tired, 
troubled  woman,  as  she  prepared  to  pursue  Mooley. 
To  replace  the  pot  would  indeed  have  been  a  hard 
matter. 

Mr.  Whitney  returned  in  a  few  months,  and  as  it 
was  becoming  hard  to  get  the  earth  for  making  salt- 


MOOLEY. 

petre,  and  as  many  of  his  neighbors  were  going  to 
Vermont,  he  set  off  on  foot  to  see  the  new  State.  He 
was  not  gone  long,  for  it  is  said  he  walked  eighty 
miles  some  days  between  the  rising  and  setting  of  the 
sun. 

He  was  much  pleased  with  the  new  country,  and 
the  family  again  prepared  to  move.  I  think,  children, 
you  could  hardly  keep  from  laughing,  spite  of  your 
efforts  to  be  polite,  if  you  saw  such  a  caravan  coming. 

In  front  of  the  ox-load  of  furniture  was  a  seat 
where  some  of  them  rode,  and  behind  was  strapped  a 
coop  with  some  fowls  in  it.  Mrs.  Whitney  rode  on 
horseback  with  a  child  behind  her,  and  a  baby  in  her 
arms.  Then  there  were  two  colts  which  Cyrus  led 
most  of  the  way,  and  a  few  sheep,  and  Mooley  and 
her  calves,  which  Ben  and  John  helped  to  drive. 
The  entire  family  were  dressed  in  warm  woollen  gar- 
ments which  Dame  Whitney  had  made  ;  carded,  spun, 
and  woven  the  cloth  from  the  wool  shorn  from  their 
own  sheep,  and  then  cut  the  garments,  and  made  them 
with  thread  of  her  spinning.  Cyrus  and  his  father 
wore  in  addition  short  buckskin  breeches  buckled  at 
the  knee. 


MOOLEY. 

Securely  hidden  in  the  midst  of  the  load  was  one 
of  Mr.  Whitney's  long  blue  woollen  stockings,  knit  to 
come  above  the  knee,  tied  up  full  of  Spanish  dollars. 
"  Not  much  march  money,"  I  hear  some  banker's  boy 
say ;  but  it  was  more  than  most  of  the  settlers  carried 
with  them,  and  quite  sufficient  to  make  them  a  well- 
to-do  family  in  the  new  town  where  they  were  going. 

Mrs.  Whitney  also  carried  with  great  care  the 
seeds  of  catnip  and  burdock  and  mullein  and  other 
weeds  which  are  now  the  pest  of  the  Vermont  farm- 
ers. Indeed,  many  of  the  weeds  we  now  despise 
were  in  those  days  highly  prized  as  medicines ;  and 
every  house-mother  who  went  into  the  new  country 
carried  with  her  not  only  bags  of  dried  herbs,  but 
parcels  of  seeds  to  make  sure  the  next  year's  supply. 
Few  doctors  had  yet  gone  to  the  new  settlement,  and 
people  were  too  poor  to  employ  them  except  in 
severest  cases  of  sickness. 

Thus  these  people  took  their  way  over  rough 
roads  and  through  unbridged  streams,  more  than  a 
hundred  miles,  in  the  bleak  weather  of  December, 
1780,  just  one  hundred  years  ago!  I  suppose  they 
got  very  cold  and  tired ;  but  they  stopped  at  night  at 


MOOLEY. 

the  little  country  taverns,  cared  for  their  animals  as 
best  they  could,  ate  their  own  luncheon,  and  drank 
a  little  milk  which  Mooley  gave. 

They  found  a  pleasant  home  in  Vermont.  A  new 
house  was  built,  and  a  barn  for  Mooley  and  her 
calves  —  some  of  them  grown  to  cows  and  oxen. 
Doubtless  Mooley  now  thought  she  was  settled  for 
life ;  but,  the  war  over,  the  settlers  again  became 
restless,  and  one  morning  Mr.  Whitney  came  in  to 
say  that  Mr.  Dee  wanted  to  buy  Mooley. 

"  Buy  Mooley  ?  "  they  all  exclaimed  indignantly. 

They  were  told  that  Mr.  Dee  was  going  to  Cape 
Breton  Island  with  his  family,  and  they  wanted 
Mooley  for  the  milk  supply  and  because  she  was 
known  to  be  a  good  traveller. 

So,  although  the  children  cried  and  Madam 
Whitney's  stiff-starched  cap-border  fairly  crackled 
with  indignation,  Mooley  was  sold  ;  and  they  saw 
her  trudge  off  toward  the  isle  of  Cape  Breton  —  look 
on  your  maps  and  see  where  that  is. 

The  Whitney  children  thereafter  got  a  scanty  sup- 
ply of  milk  from  a  sheep,  whose  lamb  they  fed  with 
bread  and  potatoes.  This  partly  consoled  them,  and 


MOOLEY. 

Madam  Whitney  was  very  glad  to  have  a  little 
money  to  help  the  new  church  of  which  Mr.  Whitney 
had  just  been  made  deacon ;  but  still  they  all  often 
thought  and  longed  to  hear  of  Mooley. 

Postal  communication  was  almost  impossible  in 
those  days  ;  postage  was  very  high,  and  post-offices 
rare  in  the  thinly  settled  parts  of  the  country.  Cards 
were  unheard  of,  letters  seldom  written.  When  let- 
ters were  written  they  were  carried  to  the  tavern  and 
thrust  behind  strips  of  basket-stuff  tacked  to  the  wall 
in  the  bar-room  ;  and  travellers  were  accustomed  to 
look  over  these  letters  and  carry  along  those  which 
were  to  go  on  their  route,  as  far  as  possible,  and  leave 
them  at  the  nearest  tavern,  when  some  other  traveller 
would  take  them.  Think  of  that,  children,  who  send 
letters  to  your  friends  in  California  in  less  than  a  week  ! 

In  this  way,  or  some  other,  Mrs.  Whitney  heard,  a 
year  after  Mooley  went  away,  that  she  arrived  safe  in 
Cape  Breton  Island,  and  was  again  a  loyal  subject  of 
King  George  III. 


THE  GIRL  THAT  HAD  PA- 
TIENCE TO  PRACTISE. 

T  HATE  him  !  Yes,  I  do !  and  I  never  will  take 
-*•  another  lesson  !  See  if  I  do  !  "  This  was  said 
with  emphasis. 

Mrs.  Gordon  looked  out  of  the  parlor  window  to 
find  that  the  speaker  was  her  own  little  daughter. 
Madge  was  a  bright,  active  girl  with  lovely  chestnut 
hair,  blue  eyes  and  red  cheeks.  A  pet  at  home  and  a 
favorite  at  school,  it  was  not  strange  that  she  was  im- 
perious ;  she  enjoyed  music,  but  she  "hated  practice." 

Mrs.  Gordon  looked  thoughtful.  She  desired 
Madge  to  become  an  accurate  musician,  and  she  felt 
that  Professor  Dartrum  was  a  judicious  teacher.  A 
moment  later  the  parlor  door  was  pushed  open  and 


THE   GIRL    THAT    HAD    PATIENCE   TO    PRACTISE. 

Madge  stood  there.  There  was  a  look  of  defiance  in 
her  deep  blue  eyes. 

"  Let  us  hear  all  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon,  mak- 
ing a  place  for  Madge  and  her  two  young  friends  on 
the  sofa.  Then  followed  a  brief  narration  of  the  very 
strict  rules,  and  the  torture  to  which  she  was  every 
day  subject. 

"  Miss  Craven  is  not  half  as  strict  —  say  I  may  take 
of  Miss  Craven,  mamma  ! "  Madge  concluded. 

For  answer  Mrs.  Gordon  said  very  gently,  "  Before 
we  decide  let  me  narrate  something  that  I  have  read 
of  a  young  girl  whose  teacher  was  far  more  exacting 
than  Professor  Dartrum." 

"  That  could  never  be  !  "  exclaimed  Madge. 

"  Will  you  have  the  story  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  cried  three  voices  in  chorus. 

"As  I  shall  leave  you  to  guess  the  name  of  the 
young  girl,  you  will  need  to  pay  particular  attention," 
continued  Mrs.  Gordon.  "  The  sleepy  old  place  in 
which  our  heroine  lived,  possibly  had  something  to  do 
in  fostering  the  love  of  music  in  her  breast  until  it  burst 
into  aflame  bright  enough  to  illumine  two  continents." 

Here  Madge  felt  that  she  had  guessed  the  name. 


THE   GIRL    THAT    HAD    PATIENCE   TO    PRACTISE. 

"This  sleepy  old  town,"  continued  Mrs.  Gordon, 
"had  a  theatre  where  the  little  girl  was  accustomed  to 
go  with  her  father.  He  was  flute-player  in  the  thea- 
tre, and  organist  in  the  famous  old  cathedral.  At  last, 
from  following  the  musicians  so  closely,  she  longed 
to  play  herself.  The  flute  did  not  suit  her  small 
mouth ;  but  the  violin — yes,  she  would  have  a  violin  ! 

" '  A  violin  !  nothing  could  be  more  absurd,'  her 
relatives  declared ;  and  aunt  Caroline  insisted  that 
her  father  must  not  indulge  the  child  in  this  way  — 
only  boys  played  violins.  However,  this  little  girl 
kept  on  asking,  and  at  last  her  father  brought  home 
the  smallest  violin  that  he  could  possibly  buy.  And 
now  for  lessons  !  M.  Simon,  the  teacher,  lived  a  good 
distance  away.  It  did  not  matter  :  three  times  a 
week  she  took  the  long  walk  through  the  Rue  Voltaire 
across  the  crowded  Place  where  the  theatre  stood,  past 
the  handsome  stores  and  over  the  bridge,  and  then 
along  a  narrow  street  till  the  gray  towers  of  the  old 
chateau  came  in  sight. 

"  First  she  must  learn  to  stand  —  now  to  rest  on 
her  left  foot  with  the  right  partly  in  front ;  then  how 
to  hold  her  violin  —  how  it  should  rest  on  her  shoul- 


THE   GIRL   THAT    HAD    PATIENCE   TO    PRACTISE. 

der  and  how  to  grasp  and  support  it.  Hold  it  per- 
fectly still  for  ten  minutes  !  Then  lay  it  down  for  a 
few  minutes'  rest !  Take  it  up  again  and  hold  it  firm ! 

"  Patiently  now  she  bent  her  small  fingers  over  the 
strings,  as  if  to  touch  a  chord  —  head  erect,  left  arm 
bent  and  brought  forward  so  that  she  could  see  her 
elbow  under  the  violin.  Then  she  must  stand  per- 
fectly still  with  the  right  arm  hanging  down  naturally. 
No  bow,  of  course.  She  must  first  learn  to  sustain  the 
weight  of  the  violin  and  accustom  her  arm  to  its 
shape.  In  silence,  and  motionless,  she  held  the  in- 
strument. 

"  For  two  or  three  weeks  she  did  this  and  nothing 
more. 

"  Then  the  bow  was  placed  in  her  right  hand.  Now 
rest  it  lightly  on  the  strings  and  draw  it  down  slowly 
and  steadily.  Not  a  sound  !  No,  there  was  no  rosin 
on  the  bow,  and  it  slipped  over  the  strings  in  silence. 

"  Two  hours  every  day,  nothing  but  positions  and 
dumb  motions  :  not  even  finger  exercises.  Simply 
to  learn  to  stand,  to  put  the  fingers  in  the  right  place, 
and  to  make  the  right  motions  with  the  bow.  Very 
often  her  poor  arms  would  ache,  and  her  legs  become 
11 


THE   GIRL   THAT    HAD    PATIENCE   TO    PRACTISE. 

stiff  with  standing.  Then  .her  teacher  had  a  temper, 
and  was  at  times  fearfully  cross.  Tears  stood  in  her 
eyes;  but  no  word  of  complaint  ever  was  uttered. 
She  was  going  to  play,  and  this  was  the  way  to  learn. 

"At  home  the  same  thing  was  repeated.  Three 
hours'  practice  every  day  with  the  dumb  violin  —  and 
this  for  three  full  months. 

"  Now  she  has  rosin  on  her  bow.  The  exercises 
are  all  written  out  with  a  pen  by  her  master.  Long- 
sustained  notes  by  the  hour.  The  bow  hardly  moved, 
so  slowly  did  she  draw  it  up  and  down.  If  she  ob- 
tained nothing  else,  she  would  have  a  strong,  clear 
tone,  and  learn  to  make  a  grand,  full  sweep  with  her 
bow.  Slowly  and  patiently  she  crept  along,  some- 
times in  the  morning,  sometimes  late  at  night,  listen- 
ing to  instructions  and  playing  over  the  exercises. 

"  Seven  hours  every  day  !  Scales  in  every  key ; 
running  passages  of  every  imaginable  character  — 
nearly  a  year  of  dry  scales. 

"  One  day  a  famous  musical  director  put  up  at  the 
Hotel  de  France.  Would  he  listen  to  her  playing? 
Yes. 

"  She  sat  in  her  usual  place  in  the  orchestra  all  the 


THE    GIRL   THAT    HAD    PATIENCE    TO    PRACTISE. 

evening,  and  then,  near  midnight,  with  her  violin 
under  her  arm,  called  at  the  Hotel  de  France.  The 
great  artist  had  been  treated  to  a  banquet,  and  was 
still  sitting  in  the  dining-room.  There  were  goblets 
and  champagne  glasses  on  the  table,  and  aftei;  talk- 
ing about  music  for  a  few  moments,  he  took  a  fork, 
and  gently  tapping  on  a  wine-glass,  asked  what  note 
it  was.  It  was  E.  And  this  one  ?  A.  And  this 
one  ?  D.  And  so  on.  He  was  greatly  pleased 
with  the  experiment,  and  said  he  would  hear  her  play. 
'  Only,  you  must  mind,  I  don't  like  false  notes.' 

"'  I  never  give  'em,  sir.' 

"  He  laughed,  and  she  began  to  play.  She  was  a 
bold,  sturdy  player,  and  astonished  the  director  with 
the  graceful  sweep  of  her  small  arm.  At  the  close 
he  complimented  her  in  a  cordial  manner,  and  hoped 
she  would  go  on  with  her  studies.  '  Oh  !  she  would  ; 
she  meant  to  study  all  the  time.' 

"  The  first  real  piece  was  a  grand  occasion.  She 
played  it  through  hundreds  of  times.  Hours  were 
spent  over  one  note.  A  week  on  a  single  page.  One 
passage  she  could  not  get  right :  forty-seven  times 
she  played  it  before  her  master  would  let  her  off. 


THE   GIRL   THAT    HAD    PATIENCE   TO    PRACTISE. 

No  matter,  she  must  play  it  right  if  it  took  all  day. 
Tears  dropped  on  the  violin,  the  master  was  still 
more  enraged.  At  last  she  did  it  right,  played  it 
over  several  times,  went  home,  and  never  played  it 
wrong  again  in  her  life. 

"  At  last  there  was  to  be  a  grand  concert  —  some- 
thing quite  out  of  the  common  course ;  and  it  was 
decided  to  bring  out  this  young  musician  with  her 
wonderful  violin-playing.  The  Italian  opera,  the 
French  opera,  the  dramatic  corps,  all  the  grand  fam- 
ilies, every  musician  in  that  old  city,  bought  a  ticket. 

"  The  concert  began  and  went  on.  The  orchestra 
played,  and  the  artists  sang,  and  then  there  was  a 
little  rustle  and  hush  of  expectation  as  they  brought 
in  a  box  for  the  child  to  stand  upon  so  that  all  could 
see  her. 

"  And  then  a  slight,  blue-eyed  girl,  in  a  white  dress, 
white  satin  shoes,  and  a  pink  sash,  appeared. 

"  At  the  piano  sat  her  teacher ;  and  her  father 
stood  by  her  side  to  turn  the  leaves  of  her  music. 

"  But  a  moment  before  she  had  been  carried  away 
with  the  pink  sash  and  dainty  satin  shoes ;  now  she 
put  the  violin  to  her  shoulder,  and  stood  ready  to  play. 


THE   GIRL   THAT    HAD    PATIENCE   TO    PRACTISE. 

"  The  tone  came,  strong,  full  and  true.  The  notes 
were  in  exact  time.  The  people  were  hushed  to  a 
painful  silence.  In  his  excitement  her  father  turned 
two  leaves  —  the  small  player  inclined  her  head  and 
in  a  pretty,  lisping  whisper  said  : 

"  '  You've  turned  two  pages,  papa.'  The  page  was 
turned  back  without  a  pause,  and  the  music  went 
on.  It  was  a  brilliant  rendering  of  a  most  difficult 
composition. 

"It  seemed  as  if  the  great  musicians,  the  painters 
and  the  people  eu  masse  never  would  stop  clapping  and 
cheering.  The  leader  of  the  orchestra  offered,  in  the 
name  of  all  the  musicians,  to  crown  her  young  head 
with  a  wreath  of  roses.  The  attempt  was  amusing — 
the  wreath  slipped  over  her  shoulders,  and  fell  to  the 
floor,  and  there  she  stood  in  the  midst  of  it ! 

"  Then  they  brought  a  wonderful  Paris  doll,  and  set 
her  quite  wild  with  joy  by  presenting  it  to  her. 

"With  the  doll  under  one  arm  and  the  violin  under 
the  other,  she  bowed  her  thanks  from  the  middle  of 
the  wreath. 

"Then  they  cheered  again  and  laughed  and 
stormed  her  with  flowers." 


THE   GIRL   THAT    HAD    PATIENCE    TO    PRACTISE. 

Mrs.  Gordon  paused.  Madge  and  her  associates 
were  on  their  feet. 

"I  am  glad  you  told  us — we  cannot  guess —  only, 
mamma,  a  great  genius  would  not  have  had  to  do  all 
this,"  said  Madge. 

"  Only  genius  would  have  been  patient  —  in  other 
words,  patience  and  constant  drill  give  genius  wings," 
answered  Mrs.  Gordon. 

"Tell  us,  please,  and  we  will  practise  like  her, 
without  any  more  words,"  came  frankly. 

^Camilla  Urso"  answered  Mrs.  Gordon. 


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THE  STORY  OF  AMERICAN  HEROISM. 

As  told  by  the  Medal  Winners  and  Roll  of  Honor  men.  A  remarkable  collection  of 
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For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  the  advertised  price. 

THE  WERNER  COMPANY.  Publishers,    -    Akron,  0. 


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